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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



PATHWAYS, 
AND OTHER POEMS. 



PATHWAYS, 
AND OTHER POEMS, 




M. WINCHESTER ADAMS, 

Author " Polly," and other Poems. 



NEW YORK : 

FRANCIS W. ORVIS, 

1903. 



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Copyright, 1903 

by 

•M.« Winchester Adams. 



All rights reserved. 






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TO MY MOTHER. 

If a good deed hath been mine 

It is due her love divine; 

And the best my pen hath sung 

From the love she gave hath sprung. 

Praise too great I cannot give 

For her goodness while I live; 

All I am, or e'er shall be, 

Here, or through eternity 

That is good, to her I owe, 

Though she doth not think 'tis so. 

God personified to me 

On earth, a mother's love would be. 



CHRISTMAS CHEER. 

With holly, fragrant hemlock boughs, 

And glossy leaves of bay, 
And tiny sprigs of mistletoe, 

We decorate to-day 
Our homes, in sweet remembrance 

Of the little Christ-Child's birth. 
Who brought with Him the message 

Of "peace, good will on earth." 

With messages and kindly thoughts, 

From old friends and from new, 
The walls and corners of our hearts 

We decorate these, too. 
And here we add sweet rosemary 

For the loved ones o'er the way. 
Beyond the vale, who in God's light, 

Help keep our Christmas Day. 



Pathways 


19 


Don't Despair 


22 


Castle Building 


23 


The Pansies of City Hall Park 


25 


Believe We Christ Hath Risen 


26 


When the Lilacs Bloom 


27 


Waiting 


29 


If We Forget 


31 


The Bell of Hertzog Hall 


33 


A Tribute 


35 


Keepsakes 


37 


At the Newark Public Library 


39 


"Milestones" 


41 


Words 


42 


In the Old Burying Ground, Wales, Mass. 


43 


My Inspiration 


45 


Colorado 


46 


Two Seasons 


47 


A Self Evident Truth 


49 


Twenty-two 


50 



CONTENTS. 



Don't Frown 


52 


The Parrot 


53 


Wait Till To-Morrow's To-day 


55 


An After Election Lament 


56 


Fan-Tan 


57 


The Chimes 


58 


The Old Stone Hous*^ 


59 


The Bell at Mount Pleasant Cemetery 


61 


-^ Old Fashioned Roses 


62 


The Mantle of Peace 


63 


A Relic of the Old Fair Street Church, Newark, 




New Jersey 


65 


Sweetheart 


67 


Life 


69 


Our Beloved Dead 


70 


To Alma Mater 


71 


The Singer 


73 


The Message 


75 


The Unbidden Guest 


76 


Home 


17 


Don't Wait 


78 


The Little Song 


79 


Graves 


80 


Long Ago 


81 


A Dream 


83 



CONTENTS. 

Two Days 85 

The Vacant Place 87 

Living Over 88 

Musings of a Blotter 89 

Dreams Versus Reality 91 

Florence 92 

Reflected 94 

At Sixteen 93 

To the "Valley" River 95 

An Old Ring 97 

Be Not Discouraged 98 

Patience, For the Heart Grows Weary 99 

In the Minus Age 100 

Fanny's Shoe loi 

Little Elizabeth 102 

The Years 104 

A June Evening T05 

A Day in Suffern, N. Y. 106 

The Commuters 107 

The "Condemned" Bridge 109 

"-f- -Choose the Bright Side 11 1 

In Sickness and In Health 112 

Our Well-Beloved 113 

Do Your Best 114 

Cape Cod 115 



CONTENTS. 



May 


117 


Going Back 


18 


An Endorsement 


121 


Memories 


122 


Nasturtiums 


123 


From Barnegat Bay 


124 


The Bulletin Imp 


125 


A Summer Idyl 


126 


June Time and Roses and Love 


128 


Playmates 


129 


Lines Sent with a Photograph 


131 


Our Saving 


132 


A Red Letter Record 


133 


Is Life Worth Living ? 


135 


In the Twilight 


136 


Lombardy Poplars 


137 


"All Things Come Round to Him Who Will 


But 


Wait" 


138 


What's the Use 


139 


The Rhyme of the Move 


141 


I Wonder Why 


143 


No Reply 


145 


Good-Night 


146 


Joy and Sorrow 


147 


A Summer Afternoon 


148 



CONTENTS. 

The Flowers 149 

Morning and Evening 151 

A Little Monarch 152 

A Psalm of Dress 153 

Everard 155 

Greetings 156 

Ruby's Children 157 

Madeline 161 

A Flirtation 163 

A Modern Pegasus 164 

A Valentine 167 

Miss Muffit Revised 168 

-The Old Year 169 



PATHWAYS AND OTHER POEMS. 



PATHWAYS. 

" In the way of righteousness is life ; and in the pathway thereof 
there is no death," — Proverbs xii. . 28. 

Silver streamlet in the valley 

Pressing onward to the sea, 
Here in silence, there o'er cascade, 

Like a child, light-hearted, free ; 
Happy pathway of the spring, 
To the ocean hurrying. 

Beaten paths across the hillside 

Traversed daily year by year. 
Not a stone but marks the nearing 

Of a home some one holds dear; 
Firm, hard pathways filled with thought 
And the dreams each trav'ler wrought. 



61 



PATHWAYS. 



Heavy shadows hanging o'er us, 
Tangled brambles 'neath our feet, 

Not a reaching hand to help us, 
Not a word to make life sweet ; 

Sad-heart pathways, rough and steep, 

Where to keep the way, we creep. 

Cheerful words our souls uplifting, 
Easing sorrows hard to bear, 

Till again we look up hopeful 

Through some loved one's patient care ; 

Broadening pathways from the night. 

Leading outward to the light. 

Loving hearts and sweet communion. 
Daily converse filled with cheer, 

Not a cloud on the horizon, 
Just a sky all blue and clear ; 

Pleasant pathways where to be 

Fills the soul with melody. 

Knowledge stored away since childhood 

Varied as the changing rill. 
Logic, reason, fact and fancy. 

Which are ours to use at will ; 
Wondrous pathways of the mind, 
Where we untold treasures find. 



20 




'Happy pathway of the spring, 
To the ocean hurrying." 



PATKW^WS. 

Ev'ry word that cheers another ; 

Ev'ry Httle kindly deed ; 
Ev'ry good thought brought to action, 

Is a living Christ-like creed. 
Helpful pathways by the way, 
That lead on to perfect day. 

Faithfulness in line of duty, 
Holiness of life and thought. 

Bettering the world for others. 
Are the pathways to be sought; 

And w^ho follow these 'tis saith Jl 

Shall have endless life, not death. 



21 



DON'T DESPAIR. 

If the world seems upside down, 

Don't you care ; 
Force of gravity keeps us on 

Through the air: 
Old world has to turn they say 
On its axis every day, 
Down we cannot always stay, 

Don't despair. 

If the clouds hang thick and black. 

Don't you know, 
'Tis the trials we surmount 

Make us grow? 
Laugh a bit, the clouds will shift, 
Pray a bit and they will lift, 
Lo! behold the longed for gift, 

Bright will glow. 

Don't give up though fortune frown, 

Work and wait, 
To the faithful all things come. 

E'en though late. 
For the sunshine that we lend 
To humanity, God will send 
In our need, a needed friend. 

Sure as fate. 



22 



CASTLE BUILDING. 

What becomes of all the castles 
That we build from day to day? 

Do they stand in all their beauty 
In some country far away? 

Shall we find the tiny cottage 
With its keepings all so plain, 

That we built when first we ventured 
In that castle-land of Spain? 

Do we not recall the pleasure 

As we furnished each wee room? 

Oh, the sweet air from the garden 
When the lilacs were in bloom ! 

And the dear, loved friends who often 
Came to share our simple fare, 

In the s-tructures since we've builded, 
Only one or two are there. 

All the rest have journeyed onward 
To a brighter land than Spain ; 

To the house of many mansions 

Where the heart shall know no pain. 



23 



CASTLE BUILDING. 



Yet, we go on building castles 
That we think are very fair ; 

What if they are never dwelt in, 
And are frail and light as air. 



'to' 



Build away. Who knows but somewhere 

For us in the Better Land, 
Angels build our home eternal 

From some castle we have planned. 



24 



THE PANSIES OF CITY HALL PARK. 

Golden and purple and white and mixed, 

Glowing and growing in lowly beds, 
While "think of me," "think of me," softly saying. 

The pansies lift up their heads. 
Lift up their heads in the bright sunshine, 

Hold up their heads when the day looks dark. 
And every day in their own sweet way, 

Smile the pansies of City Hall Park. 

Youthful and aged and rich and poor. 

Sadly or gladly the throng goes by ; 
While thoughtfully, thoughtfully nodding, swaying, 

To help them the pansies try ; 
Over the railing, a wee child leaning, 

Holds up a finger and whispers, "Hark !" 
And into its face with a dainty grace. 

Smile the pansies of City Hall Park. 

Golden and purple and white and mixed, 

Teaching and preaching to great and small, 
That, "cheerfulness, cheerfulness, comfort giveth," 

The pansies greet one and all. 
The poor man sad and the rich man weary, 

Take courage although the way is dark. 
And thank the dear God, for the helpful nod, 

Of the pansies of City Hall Park. 



25 



BELIEVE WE CHRIST HATH RISEN. 

Believe we Christ hath risen 

When we from day to day 
Remember not His teachings 

And precepts to obey? 
When toward the weak and erring 

We lack in charity, 
The Christ we fain would follow 

is dead to you and me. 

Believe we Christ hath risen 

When we keep useless creeds? 
The creed Christ's living gave us 

Was to "do kindly deeds," 
If we fulfill this lesson. 

He lives for us to-day ; 
If we forget its meaning 

We bury Christ for aye. 

Believe we Christ hath risen? 

Then let our living show 
In actions, not in phrases. 

That Christ we really know. 
Then each day as it enters 

Will be an Easter morn ; 
And each day as it passes 

Will prove that Christ was born. 



26 



WHEN THE LILACS BLOOM. 

When the Hlacs are in bloom, 
And their sweetness fills the room, 
Then it is one dear loved face 
Comes and fills the old-time place. 
You but see the lilacs there, 
FlufTy plumes swayed by the air, 
But I feel the presence near 
Of the friend, who many a year 
Tended them with love and care. 
Till they seemed each spring more fair. 

May time comes, the lilacs bloom. 
And their sweetness fills the room, 
But the friend who loved them so 
In the days of long ago, 
Wanders now in realms of light, 
Where no sorrow comes nor night, 
And the lilacs by the door 
Seem to talk of days of yore. 
And their sweetness gives me heart 
To do better here my part. 



27 



WHEN THE LILACS BLOOM. 



Sometime when the Hlacs bloom 
And their sweetness fills the room, 
When all Nature seemeth glad, 
And not one heart should be sad, 
When the lilacs nod and sway 
On some perfect day in May, 
Might I choose, that time would be 
The dawn of my eternity ; 
On some dav when lilacs bloom, 
And their sweetness fills the room. 



28 




WAITING. 



WAITING. 

Waiting in the morning, with a hope that's 

dimmed at eve_, 
Waiting in the evening for the morrow but to 
grieve, 

And so the days they die : 
Spring-time passes, roses bloom, 
Autumn comes, then winter's gloom, 
And thus the years go by 

And ne'er return. 
While waiting for some crowning gift, 
Upon the sea of life we drift, 
Past many a port perhaps as fair 
As those we've fashioned in the air ; 
And, whether love, ambition, gold, 
Upon our nature makes strong hold, 
Each day of waiting's filled with pain, 
And few the summit's height e'er gain 

At last we learn. 
Some work while waiting, others sigh, 
Some laugh, — and they the world defy, — 
Yet realization seems to fly 

As all pursue. 
What, then, the lesson that life's waiting brings, 
From steep rough paths, heart sorrowings? 
To conquer self, to live outside 



29 



WAITING. 

The very bodies where our souls abide ; 
Towards those who err to gentler grow; 
To take of life, as on we go, 

A broader view. 
Then, though the gift we strove to gain 
That years we waited for in vain, 

We lose at last, 
Yet He whose wisdom sees the end 
To us some better gift will send 
To round our lives, make them complete, 
As roses make some dark day sweet 

When grief is past. 
Ah ! happy we — if not too blind 
This greater blessing here to find 
To comfort us — and when, some day, 
We see the wisdom of His way 

Doth compensate 
For every trial and moment sad, 
Ah ! then we'll say that we are glad 

He made us wait. 



30 



IF WE FORGET. 

I know not in what other life, 

Or plane of living first we met, 
What matter's it, such minor things, 

If we forget ! 

The times, the manners, losses, gains, 
Through all the ages, what are they 

But trivial things to mark each stage 
Along the way ! 

These we forget. They have no place 

In each new stage through which we pass, 

We leave them for the better things 
Of the next class. 

I only hold the spirit knows 

A kindred spirit through all time ; 

In every stage we find our own. 
In each new clime. 

It may be early in our youth, 

Or not till half our life has passed, 

But still the loved of other climes 
We'll find at last. 



31 



IF WE FORGET. 

And thus it is this time we've met 
Along the sunny western slope ; 

Though youth and roses both have fled 
We've faith and hope. 

The spirit lives, will always live, 
And we shall meet, as we have met. 

The clime, the age, what matter's it 
If we forget ! 



32 



THE BELL OF HERTZOG HALL. 

'Tis the hour of evening service, 
List the bell of Hertzog Hall ! 

It is pealing forth its message, 
To the students one and all. 

"Come and join us in devotion, 
Glory to the King of kings, 

Peace on earth, good v^ill to all men," 
From the tower of Hertzog rings. 

As its cadence sweetly falleth, 
As the last tones die away. 

From the past, I like to fancy, 
At the close of every day 

Come to earth again the kindred. 

Of the giver of the bell. 
Giving help to faint and weary. 
Needful help, none know so well 



33 



THE BELL OF HERTZOG HALL. 



As the ones who do His bidding, 
Minist'ring with unseen hands, 

Giving just the strength that's needed, 
As the all-wise King commands. 

At the hour of evening service, 
List the bell of Hertzog Hall, 

It is pealing forth Christ's message, 
"Peace on earth, good will to all.'* 



34 



A TRIBUTE. 

Written after seeing the bronze bust of the late Dr. Abraham Coles, 
in Washington Park, Newark, N. J. 

With thankfulness for the sweet hymns 

To comfort "all the days," 
And admiration in our hearts, 

Upon his face we gaze. 
He is not dead, — no one is dead — 

Whose voice speaks through all time, 
In adoration, faith and love, 

In ev'ry clime. 

The little children whom he loved 

Stop oft to read the song, 
*'The Rock of Ages," wondrous words. 

So true and grand and strong. 
It gives the weary pilgrim strength, 

''God's mercy standeth fast," 
His promises "from age to age," 

For aye shall last. 



35 



A TRIBUTE. 

"Ever with Thee," what perfect faith 

Abounds throughout the hymn ; 
No more of sorrow, night or fear, 

Or tears the eye to dim. 
'Twill comfort many, long years hence — 

Whose lives have shadows gray — 
And they will breathe a prayer of thanks, 

As I to-day. 



36 



KEEPSAKES. 

How much for them all did you say you would give? 

Not a dime ! Why, the memories they hold 
Could I weigh them in scales could never be bought 

For ten times their weight in pure gold ! 

These two or three lines mean nothing to you, 

But my life would be darker to-day 
Had they never been written, so think you I could 

Throw that wee bit of paper away? 

That book stained by age my mother read last — 

Tis a treasure no money can buy — 
This ring was a brother's, who entered the fight 

Of the North, at Bull Run, but to die. 

These few faded leaves were sent by a friend, 
And have traveled just half 'round the globe, 

This litttle Scotch rose was worn by my lass 
At the waist of her silken plaid robe. 

That letter, those trinkets, these marbles so blue. 
This doll without hands — without feet — 

Bring back to my heart the years that have passed. 
And each one has its memory sweet. 



37 



KEEPSAKES. 



"Inanimate friends," some one called them one day 

Connecting the present and past, 
Would I part with them? No ! but burn them for me 

When my eyes have been closed for the last. 



38 



AT THE NEWARK PUBLIC LIBRARY. 

Books on literature and science, 

The languages and arts ; 
Sociology, biography. 

To culture minds and gladden hearts ; 
At the Library you'll find these, 
Standing row on row. 
Plainly bound or bound for show. 

Books of history and description, 

Travel, humor, fiction ; 
There's religion and philosophy, 
To digest without restriction ; 
At the Library you'll find these, 
Standing row on row, 
Each one numbered so and so. 

There are general works for reference, 

If at such you wish to look; 
I re-catalogued the volumes. 
While I waited for a book. 

Books of pleasure, sorrow, study, 

Standing row on row. 

Some all worth and some all show. 



39 



AT THE NEWARK PUBLIC LIBRARY. 

Then I watched the people round me, 

Richly dressed and poorly clad; 
Some a study deep and earnest, 
Some all sunshine, some so sad, 

Till I thought how like the volumeS; 
Standing row on row, 
. Are the people that we know. 

In and out these living volumes 
Circulate from year to year ; 
Till at last the Great Librarian 
Calls them, and they disappear. 
At His Library we'll find them, 
Through His love and care. 
Each re-bound and each one there. 



40 



"MILESTONES." 

Some say that birthdays milestones are. 

That on Life's journey mark how far 

We travel, not how old we grow, 

The heart alone the age can show. 

If that is closed to words of cheer, 

To charity for the erring here, 

To kindly acts, to smiles and tears, 

Then are we old though few our years, 

But if awake to all of these, 

We journey o'er Life's troubled seas, 

Then are we young, though three score ten 

Our years, as numbered here by men. 

Some milestones mark a darksome road, 

We forward press with heavy load ; 

And others note a pleasant mile, 

Where we would tarry for awhile. 

So, may the one to-day you meet, 

Itself in pleasant paths repeat, 

With friends to comfort moments sad. 

Not envious if your heart is glad. 

Till, in that land where night and day 

And years and hours have passed away, 

You find some long unanswered dream 

That made some milestone darker seem, 

Recorded by the Master's hand, 

As marking here a "Milestone grand." 



41 



WORDS. 

IVe read somewhere that words once spoken 

Go ringing on to the end of time ; 
And I wonder if, when Life's spell is broken, 

We'll find on some shore in an unknown clime. 
All the words we've said, both cross and pleasant, 

Like shells strewn here on a sandy beach. 
And whether we'll gather the pleasant for keeping, 

And the cross broken ones throw far from our reach. 

And I wonder if we'll list to the singing 

Of these shell words we'll find on that shore, 
As oft in our childhood we did to the ringing 

Of some beautiful shell with its wonderful roar. 
If we do, how we'll wish we had made them all pleasant 

If each word we speak forever shall ring. 
For then all the air would be filled with sweet music 

And naught to our hearts a discord could bring. 



42 



IN THE OLD BURYING GROUND, WALES, 

MASS. 

As to-day I wandered musing, 

Stopping here and there to read. 
Came the thought, who were these people. 

What their Hves and what their creed? 
Joy they knew, and also sorrow, 

Had their enemies and friends ; 
But at last have gained the haven 

Where the new life never ends. 

In the sunlight of the morning. 

Or when day draws to a close ; 
When all Nature's singing gladly, 

Or is seeking night's repose ; 
In the beauty of the summer, 

Or in winter drear and chill ; 
Naught disturbs their quiet slumber. 

Peace ! they're sleeping on the hill. 



43 



IN THE OLD BURYING GROUND, WALES, MASS. 

There were headstones white and simple ; 

Here one, old, moss covered, brown, 
Marked the grave of the first settler 

In this pretty mountain town. 
O'er the mounds unmarked by marble 

I, a stranger, bowed my head ; 
Though perhaps almost forgotten 

They were once some loved one's dead. 

As I turned away in silence, 

Looking southward to the lake. 
Listening to the gentle music. 

On the shore — the wavelets make — 
Peace, 1 thought, past all our knowing, 

Reigns upon this little hill, 
And the waves' soft whispered murmur 

Calmed my thoughts with, "Peace be still." 



44 



MY INSPIRATION. 

I have listened to sweet music 

Till it made my pulses thrill ; 
I have listened to grand anthems 

Till with tears my eyes would fill ; 
But the sweetest, grandest music 

Is my mother's voice to me, 
As it blesses, so it comforts, 

And it soothes me constantly. 

I have looked at wondrous paintings 

That have given an artist fame ; 
I have bowed before the genius 

That has helped to make his name; 
But a greater inspiration 

Is my mother's face to me, 
With its look of love so tender, 

It uplifts me constantly. 



45 



COLORADO. 

Far toward the land of setting sun 

Bright Colorado lies ; 
Beneath its skies fair valleys rest, 

And snow-capped mountains rise. 
There heaven a little nearer seems, 

Life has a broader view ; 
The air breathes fprth its challenge, 

"To noble thoughts be true." 

That "Color-land," 'tis said, doth hold 

O'er one a wondrous spell ; 
If he perchance, e'en a short time. 

Within its borders dwell. 
For, ever after though he roam. 

No clime can e'er suffice 
Like that, to represent to him 

God's earthly paradise. 



46 



TWO SEASONS. 

It was Summer, to the mountains 

He had gone to spend a week ; 
And he saw no harm in flirting 

With the farmer's daughter meek. 
Said he, half aloud, one morning, 

"It will help the time to pass, 
I don't love her, but love-making 

Can but please a country lass." 

So he did his best at wooing. 

Praised her voice and hair and eyes, 
Turned her music, said sweet nothings 

As they gazed at sunset skies ; 
Ihus employed he passed the hours 

Till at last the week was o'er ; 
Then he hastened to the city. 

Of the maiden thought no more. 

It was Winter, three years later, 

At an evening party bright. 
To a lady in the city 

He was introduced one night. 
She w^as wealthy, much admired. 

Had a voice superbly fine. 
Said he to himself, 'T love her. 

And some day she shall be mine." 



47 



TWO SEASONS. 



So he wooed the city lady 

And proposed to her one day ; 
She refused him, thus replying, 

''You can't mean a word you say. 
Once before you played the lover 

Just to help the time to pass. 
You were then the farmer's boarder 

I was then the country lass." 



48 



A SELF EVIDENT TRUTH. 

If you are down at the foot of Life's hill 

And start out the hill to climb, 
Don't look to your neighbor to give you a lift, 

You'll find he hasn't the time 
If he is above you, to give you a hand, 
It isn't the way your neighbor is planned, 
For, you might get above in the end, 
So remember this axiom, friend: 
If you would succeed, you must climb for yourself, 

Though the way be rough and steep; 
A laugh and a song will help you along 

O'er the spots where you have to creep. 

If you are up near the top of Life's hill 

And by accident slip and fall. 
Don't look to your neighbor to lessen your speed, 

To him you are only a ball. 
To watch you go down, oh, the sport is fine ! 
There are plenty to help all along the line, 
And they'll stop when you get to the end, 
So remember this axiom, friend : 
If you'd check your speed, you must do it yourself. 

Look up, not down the steep hill, 
A laugh and a song, will make your heart strong 

To go at it again with a will. 



49 



TWENTY-TWO. 

Where has strayed the little lassie ■ 

Whom we knew long years ago? 
Can anybody tell us, 

For we really wish to know? 
She had eyes of blue the deepest, 

She had sunny, golden hair, 
Ah, here comes a stately maiden. 

We will ask if she knows where? 
Then we speak and ask the maiden. 

And she says her answer's true, 
That she is that little lassie ; 

Can it be, and twenty-two? 

Then we ask where is the school girl. 

With her laughing, romping ways. 
Whose eyes were like the lassie's, 

Whom we knew in other days. 
We have lost her as completely 

As we lost, so long ago. 
That darling litttle lassie. 

Tell us, maiden, do you know 
Where to look to-day to find her? 

The maiden says her answer's true. 
That she is that happy school girl ; 

Can it be, and twenty-two? 



50 




"Nay, we half begin to doubt it, 
When the maiden at us looks." 



TWENTY-TWO. 

Do we wish to find the lassie, 

Or the school girl with her books? 
Nay, we half begin to doubt it, 

When the maiden at us looks 
With the blue eyes of the lassie 

And the school girl's happy smile, 
We are satisfied to keep her, 

Just this way a little while. 
And we pray that God protect her, 

Keep her just as brave and true ; 
Till the close of this life's journey 

As she is at twenty-two. 



51 



DON'T FROWN. 

Don't frown and say your life's all sorrow, 
Because a cloud flits through your sky : 

Just keep a pleasant, sunny face, 

And soon you cannot even trace 
Where the wee cloud passed by. 

Don't frown and say your life is dreary, 
Because you work from day to day ; 

Work is a blessing in disguise, 

So work and laugh if you are wise, 
And keep real care away. 

Don't frown and say your life's a failure 
Because some fancied height's not gained ; 

'Tis better on the plains to stay, 

And have a life both dull and gray. 
Than let the soul be stained. 

Don't frown, the world cares not for frowning, 
But sunshine's wanted everywhere; 

So, always keep it in your face, 

Distribute it in every place, 

And make the world more fair. 



52 



THE PARROT. 

Once I sat me, half reclining, sometimes musing, some- 
times pining, 
Over manuscript declined by publishers, a score of 
times or more, 
In my hand a glass of claret, by my side my noisy parrot, 
Screeching always "garret, garret," word I'd taught 
him long before, 
"Stop your screeching," I commanded, as I'd often done 
before. 
Quoth the parrot, ''Nevermore." 

"Parrot," said I, "cease your screaming, let me once 
more, idly dreaming, 
Fancy I have power to picture something never 
thought before." 
Then my claret drank I, slowly, while the bird kept talk- 
ing lowly, 
Words with meaning aught but holy, which he'd heard 
in days of yore, 
About manuscripts rejected, which he'd heard in days of 
yore, 
Just those words and nothing more. 



53 



THE PARROT. 

And the parrot always talking, still is walking, still is 
walking. 
Up and down his cage of iron, hanging by my study 
door. 
And his manner's oft dejected, for he's frequently neg- 
lected, 
But he never says "rejected" since I flung him on the 
floor, 
Manuscripts he never mentions, since I flung him on the 
floor, 
Quoth the parrot, "Nevermore." 



54 



WAIT TILL TO-MORROW'S TO-DAY. 

Why cross the stream, ere the river is reached, 

Why to-morrow's load carry to-day? 
A bridge may be building to help us to cross, 

Or the burden may vanish away. 
Why worry and fret? Strength will come with the hour, 

For the trouble that has to be borne, 
Then why go to meet it before it appears, 

And so cloud some beautiful morn? 
Why try to live time that may never be ours? 

Just enjoy the bright sunshine, I pray, 
Then cross not the stream nor worry and fret. 

Just wait till to-morrow's to-day. 



55 



AN AFTER ELECTION LAMENT. 

IVe a fine silk hat that's far too large, 
A pair of gloves a size too small, 

L^mbrellas, canes and overcoats, 
For which I have no need at all. 

Cigars enough to fill a trunk — 
But really now I never smoke; — 

An easy chair, a banjo new. 

And "Looking Backward" — what a joke! 

A box of candy that's so old 

You could not eat it if you would ; 

Neck-ties and mufflers, slippers, too, 
And scores of things not half as good. 

Thus Christmas gifts I'll have to make, 
Or auction off the worthless trash ; 

Election next I'll only bet, 

Where what's put up is purely cash. 



56 



FAN-TAN. 

Fan-tan, fan-tan, 

What is in a name ! 
Fan-tan, fan-tan, 

You cannot call it tame; 
Though you play it without betting, 
You are never once forgetting 
That fan-tan is a gambling, very wicked 
Chinese game. 

Fan-tan, fan-tan, 

Would you like to play? 
Fan-tan, fan-tan, 

Then learn without delay ; 
For it can't be really sinning 
To find that you are winning 
Without betting in that little, wicked 
Chinese game to-day. 

Fan-tan, fan-tan, 

Chips are sometimes tame ; 
Fan-tan, fan-tan, 

There's a charm about the name ! 
Though you play it without betting, 
Your dollars sure it's getting. 
For fan-tan is a wicked, very wicked 
Chinese game. 



57 



THE CHIMES. 

From out Saint Michael's tower 

Rang the chimes one Sabbath morn, 
And to my inmost being, 

Their import sweet was borne; 
''Oh, do not be discouraged," 

Though trouble be our way 
There's One who'll guide and comfort 

And keep us day by day. 
Then chimed the bells the lesson, 

"Of Faith and Hope and Love," 
And ere the cadence ended, 

"We'll dwell with Him above." 

The chimes paused in their ringing. 

Then on the June-time air 
With the fragrance of the roses, 

Came the hymn, almost a prayer ; 
"E'en though it be a cross," they sang, 

Yet braver must we be, 
Perhaps the cross and darkness 

Are best for you and me ; 
And the priest from out his missal 

Had no words so grand to say. 
Nor a sermon so far-reaching, 

As the chimes that summer day. 



58 



THE OLD STONE HOUSE. 

I wandered the old house through one morning, 
The old stone house where I was born ; 

From cellar to garret, through ev'ry room ; 

The shutters were closed, and an air of gloom 
Pervaded the house, so old and worn. 

I thought of the present, past and future, 

The living and also the dead ; 
Till to me the rooms, so empty and still. 
With their former occupants seemed to fill; 

Though they talked, I heard not what they said. 

And with tread so silent they moved along 
From room to room, now here, now there, 

Till I thought if they'd only speak to me, 

Again for a moment a child I'd be ; 
Ah, who does not think their childhood fair ! 

I opened a window and sunshine bright 
Streamed o'er the floor that April day; 

The faces had vanished — yes, one and all — 

As mists, that we see in the early Fall, 
Lift with the sunlight and float away. 



59 



THE OLD STONE HOUSE. 



As I passed from the house and walked along 

I thought I could hear the old house say: 
''Of joys and sorrows full many I've known. 
But now, by neglect, I have aged grown, 

And am silently crumbling away." 



60 



THE BELL AT MOUNT PLEASANT CEMETERY. 

Toll the bell — a requiem toll — 

For the outgrown garb of a beautiful soul 

Is passing within thy gate ; 
To be laid away, no more to be worn, 
And for the treasure it once hath borne 

Earth never can compensate. 

Toll the bell, oh ! the hearts that ache 

Must bear their sorrow, e'en though they break, 

For the mother's love to-day ; 
But the memory sweet of the smile so dear, 
The loved caress and the word of cheer, 

Earth never can take away. 

Toll the bell, for again to-day 

Another, whose soul hath been borne away, 

Will be laid forever to rest ; 
Though hard to learn, this lesson teach 
As outward thy tones of vibration reach, 

"An All-Wise Father knoweth best." 

Toll the bell, and this comfort give. 
There is no death ; we begin to live 

When the soul at last is free ; 
Though dim our sight, our loved are near 
With the old time love to help and cheer 

Till our dawn of eternity. 



6i 



OLD-FASHIONED ROSES. 

Where grow the roses, the old-fashioned roses, 

We've searched the old garden, aye, many times 
through ; 

But the cinnamon roses and yellow Scotch roses, 
Have all been supplanted by those that are new. 

In vain do we look for the old-fashioned roses 

That we picked in our youth without fear of reproof, 

The sweet damask roses, the loved prairie roses. 

And those wondrous white roses that climbed o'er the 
roof. 

Now in the garden are Jacqueminot roses. 

And a score more with names that we cannot recall ; 

But the fragrant moss roses and sweet briar roses 
No longer are found by the old garden wall. 

Gone are the roses, the old-fashioned roses, 

Yet in memory's garden they live and they grow 

In as great a profusion, those old-fashioned roses. 
As they did in the garden we knew long ago. 



62 



THE MANTLE OF PEACE. 

In the All- Wise Father's kingdom, just beyond the 

crystal sea. 
Where there is no grief nor dying, throughout all 

eternity ; 
Where the work the Master giveth never wearies hand 

nor heart. 
Where to wish brings prompt fulfillment and where 

loved ones never part. 
Stood a messenger, attention, waiting for command 

divine; 
In his hand a shining raiment of a texture wondrous 

fine. 
"Bear it,'' said the loving Father, "down to earth this 

Christmas-tide, 
Take it as the Christ-Child's token ; it is worth all else 

beside ; 
Bear it to my child that's tired ; he has fought the good 

fight through. 
Faithful husband, friend and father, in the work I bade 

him do. 
Wrap the shining folds about him, bid all suffering to 

cease. 
O'er the worn out earthly garment, lay the mantle of 

great peace. 



63 



THE MANTLE OF PEACE. 

Whisper that the Christ-Child's token is immortal life 
for aye, 

For the faithful who have followed in his footsteps day 
by day." 

And the messenger, the angel, gave the gift the Christ- 
Child sent. 

And a soul in shining raiment on the Master's errands 
went ; 

But the watchers, with eyes mortal, only saw the breath- 
ing cease 

And the peace past understanding of the mantle of great 
peace. 



fiA 



A RELIC OF THE OLD FAIR STREET CHURCH, 
NEWARK, NEW JERSEY. 

Could the gift of speech be given 

To this reHc of the past, 
It could tell of joys and sorrows, 

Sunny skies and skies o'ercast ; 
Of the dimpled little children, — 

Men and women now to-day, 
Battling with Life's many problems 

With God's love to light the way — 
Who were brought to know His goodness, 

And His words of wisdom search, 
Forty years ago were christened 

In the old, old Fair Street Church. 

It could tell of blushing maidens. 

And of happy, manly men. 
Of the words that each had spoken 

Only death shall part again. 
As they stood beside the altar 

In the old church long ago, 
Some are gone, and some are nearing 

Gently now Life's time of snow. 



65 



A RELIC OF THE OLD FAIR STREET CHURCH, NEWARK, N. J. 

It could tell of earth's work finished, 

Of loved forms borne down the aisle, 
Of hearts longing for the dear ones. 

And the cheery word and smile. 
It could say — but it is silent — 

**They are near us if we search, 
Just as near as when they worshiped 

In the old, old Fair Street Church." 



66 



SWEETHEART. 

All day the rain fell softly, 

The sky was one unbroken gray, 
But in my heart was sunshine, 

For at the close of day 
Sweetheart would meet me, 

As she was wont to do, 
Sweetheart would greet me. 

With her love so true, 
And loving words so tender. 

So old, yet always new. 

All day the sun shone brightly, 

The sky was one unclouded blue, 
Yet in my heart was darkness, 

For sweetheart, good and true, 
No more would meet me 

With her laugh so gay ; 
No more would greet me. 

At the close of day, 
For to the land of shadows, 

She has journeyed far away. 



67 



SWEETHEART. 

Sometime, for all the sorrow 

Which makes the years so long to wait. 
Again shall come a gladness 

That will fully compensate. 
Sweetheart will meet me 

When this life is o'er ; 
Sweetheart will greet me, 

As in days of yore ; 
And naught through endless ages 

Shall part us more. 



68 



LIFE. 

When cold and silent lie our loved, 

We say that they are "dead." 
As we recall each loving look, 

Each word that they have said, 
The dear caress, each little act, 

And live them o'er once more. 
Ah ! how we need the comfort 

Which cheered so oft before. 
If we could only look beyond, — 

Not with our earthly eyes, — 
We'd see the angel's record is 

That "no one ever dies," 
For, as each pilgrim enters 

The world that's free from strife, 
The angel writes within the book : 

"Born to Eternal Life." 



69 



OUR BELO\^D DEAD. 

Believe you to-day they are sleeping 

That iheir hands in idleness lie. 
That they care not our joys and our sorrows. 

As day after day passes by? 
Think you, they do not remember, 

The loved ones so dear to the heart : 
Think you, that death changes a nature 

And can a new nature impart? 

Believe you a heart ever ready, 

To prompt to quick action the hand 
To deeds that are kindly and helpful. 

Beats never again for earth's band 
Of dear ones, when over the border 

The spirit begins the new life, 
Believe you that it has forgotten 

Earth'? joy and earth's grief and earth's strife? 

BeUeve not to-day they are sleeping 

In vale or on mountain top fair. 
But rather their spiritual presence. 

Is near us to lighten our care. 
Why doubt we the muiist'ring spirits ! 

V. :v. :! rse we our hearts to them here. 
And the messages helpful they bring us. 

Did net Christ to his brethren appear? 



70 




"Have passed in their beauty and .io\ of life's morning, 
The maidens and youth who were dear to us all." 



TO ALMA MATER. 
In Memory of February 19, 1903. 

There is joy in the halls of the City Eternal 

For those who've just entered its portals divine, 

They sit and now learn at the feet of the Master, 
And, dear Alma Mater, these pupils were thine. 

There is grief in thy halls, oh ! dear Alma Mater, 
The sun seems to hide 'neath a black heavy cloud, 

The hopes of a beautiful morning are shattered. 
In sorrow and sadness thy children are bowed. 

Thy children to-day with their youth and ambition; 

Thy children who long ago left thy roof-tree. 
To work and to win in the world's field of action. 

To-day, Alma Mater, they're weeping with thee. 

For, out from thy walks and thy by-ways of learning, 
And never to answer again thy roll call, 

Have passed in their beauty and joy of life's morning 
The maidens and youth who were dear to us all. 



71 



TO ALMA MATER. 

Have passed, ere was finished the work of thy guidance. 

And the homes and the hearts that held them most 
dear, 
In anguish are grieving, and, dear Alma Mater, 

In bonds of deep sorrow we grieve with them here. 

For those of thy children with sufiFering weary, 
Thy youngest, at present so cruelly tried, 

Our pray'rs for recovery go out to the Father, 
Who ever and always with them will abide. 

There is joy in the halls of the City Eternal, 
For those who've just entered its portals divine, 

They sit and now learn at the feet of the Master, 
And, dear Alma Mater, these pupils were thine. 



\ 



72 



THE SINGER. 

Long years ago, at a city's gate, 
A minstrel sang from morn till late ; 
But the passer-by paused not to hear 
The voice of the singer so sweet and clear, 
As he sang of joy and peace and love, 
And his trusting faith in God above. 
Of Nature's glories, and thoughts so fine 
It seemed they almost were divine. 

But One there was who heard his song, — 
The anthems sweet and grand and strong, — 
And just one word to the minstrel said. 
When lo ! in the morn the singer was dead. 
An angel had borne his spirit away 
At the word of command, to perfect day. 
Then the songs of the singer, so full of cheer, 
Were gathered together year after year ; 
Till it happened then, as it happens now, 
That laurels were brought for a marble brow ; 
In life there were few who had known his name 
Was it Death that had given the singer fame? 



72> 



THE SINGER. 

To-day among us, as in olden days, 
Some singer is singing his song of praise. 
We hear the song, but forget to say 
That it touches our hearts, until some day 
We learn with sorrow, ah me ! too late, 
The singer is gone from our city's gate. 



74 



THE MESSAGE. 

In the house of many mansions which the Father doth 
prepare, 

There was need of skillful touches to be placed with love 
and care, 

In a home that He was building to endure throughout all 
time — 

Being fitted for its loved ones, in that wondrous happy 
clime — 

''Go thou forth unto earth's vineyard," thus the All- 
Wise Builder saith. 

To an angel who was waiting — to the angel we call 
"Death"— 

"Bring thou hither one whose presence can this man- 
sion home-like make, 

One whose hand is ever willing, one beloved for love's 
sweet sake ; 

Be thou gentle with thy message, quickly speak and 
swiftly bring. 

To this heart o'er full of kindness, bear no conscious 
suffering." 

And the angel speeding earthward gave the message low 
and sweet. 

And the first born's hand was ready to the Builder's 
work complete. 



75 



THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 

Silently entering came an unbidden guest, 

And asked of the household that they give him the best 

That their hearts held in love. Without waiting he 

chose, 
And over their eldest laid his garb of repose ; 
The voice that so often had filled them with cheer 
Was stilled. Closed the laughing brown eyes with their 

clear 
Honest depths, and the heart so quick to comfort and 

bless 
Gave no answering sign to their grief or caress, 
When the long night had passed and the day raised its 

head, 
Friends said in hushed accents : "The loved one is dead." 

Nay, not dead, hearts so sad, he is living to-day, 
And his lovable presence, which cheered all your way, 
Is near you to comfort, though your eyes may not see, 
The form which the unbidden guest has set free. 

And the Angel of Life was the unbidden guest 

Who asked of their hearts that they give him their best. 



76 




'And over their eldest laid his garb of repose." 



HOME. 

Back as he wished, to his land of adoption, 

Back o'er the sea, they have brought him to rest 

'Neath the green sod and the blue sky of heaven, 
Back to the land by the stars and stripes blest. 

Far away mountains, or castles of story, 
Lake clear as crystal, or broad sunny field, 

Romance of abbey, of kirk and cathedral, 
All to his land of adoption must yield, 

Yield all the glory and honor of keeping, — 

Keepmg to rest 'neath the heather grown earth, — 

That which in life held the spirit immortal. 

That which was Scotland's by right of his birth. 

Proud of his love is his town of adoption. 

Proud of his loyalty, helpfulness, zeal ; 
Proud that to state, to his church and to friendship 

And ev'ry good cause he kept his heart leal. 

Just as he wished, they have brought him and laid him, 
'Neath the green sod in Mount Pleasant to rest, 

Back to the land of his manhood's adoption. 
Back to the land by the stars and stripes blest. 



77 



DON'T WAIT. 

Don't wait till to-morrow 

The kind word to say, 
Some one may be needing 

To hear it to-day. 
Some heart overflowing 

With sorrow and care. 
From your word may take courage 

Its burden to bear. 

Don't wait to sing praises 

Till death claims your friend, — 
Then praise will be useless, — 

But now it may tend 
To lighten some sorrow; 

So tell him, I pray. 
If in word or in action 

He has helped you to-day. 

Don't wait to do great things. 

His life's truly grand 
W^ho does the small deeds 

That are always at hand. 
His sorrow is deepest 

Who learns, aye, too late 
How much good is accomplished 

Bv those who don't wait. 



78 



THE LITTLE SONG. 

A little song came to my mind one day, 
And I wanted so much to have it stay, 
Till I could find time to write it down. 
But Polly was ill, and a settled frown 

Rested on father's face. 
Then mother looked tired and Bob was cross. 
So I hadn't the heart to think of the loss. 
Of the song, that quickly flitted away. 
While I smoothed out the tangles of life that day 

In many and many a place. 

But by and by when the evening came. 

And the work was done, I heard my name. 

Spoken so softly in mother's voice 

With "Daughter, you've made my heart rejoice. 

By the help you gave today. 
Polly you've eased, thy father cheered. 
And Bob's Httle trials all disappeared, 
Beneath your sunshine and loving care" ; 
Then I smiled through tears and breathed a prayer, 

For the soul of the song did stay. 



79 



GRAVES. 

There are other graves o'er which to weep 
Besides the churchyard mound of earth ; 
As tasks neglected in idle play, 
And unkind words which day by day 
Have accumulated from our birth. 
A chasm they make in the heart so deep, 
We gladly would close our eyes and sleep. 

Unseen are these graves, that ev'ry day 
From the world are carefully hid ; 

A. friendship broken is buried in one ; 

A heart made sad, an injustice done, 
We can read on the coffin lid. 

The churchyard graves need headstones gray. 

But to those of the heart we know the way. 

If we visit in sorrow these graves and pray. 

Will time bring a healing balmx 
And strew with care, o'er each and all 
If we do our best, till at last there'll fall. 

O'er our troubled spirit a calm. 
The first deep griefs may pass away, 
But the graves they have made, who can say? 



80 



LONG AGO. 

Long ago the world had sunshine 
And its shadows dark and gray ; 

People lived and loved and sorrowed, 
Just as people do to-day. 

Long ago the wise men studied 
To discover Nature's laws ; 

Just as they began to know them, 
Death relentless bade them pause. 

Long ago the flowers that blossomed 
And were gathered, lost their hue, 

Still to-day we gather others 
As of old they used to do. 

Long ago the smile that brightened 
Every moment we were sad, 

In our hearts to-day is living, 
And its mem'ry makes us glad. 



8i 



LONG AGO. 



Long ago ! It may be ages, 

Or the briefest space of time, 
If we live each second rightly 
Then our long ago's subHme. 

Let us then press bravely onward, 
So the future world will know. 

That this earth is really better 
For our living long ago. 



82 



A DREAM. 

Only a dream and it vanished 
With the first faint rays of day ; 

But it left a peace and calmness 
That never can pass away. 

I dreamed I had crossed the river, 
The river of Death so drear, 

Yet the journey had been so pleasant. 
It recalled the old time fear 

Of a river so deep and rapid 

That we all should sometime cross ; 

Of the waves so cold and restless. 
That over our forms would toss. 

Instead 'twas a lovely valley, 
With flowers on either side, 

And when I paused in wonder. 
Beside me there stood a guide. 

All dressed in the whitest raiment 

My eyes had ever seen ; 
Who guided me to a mansion 

'Mid meadows broad and screen. 



83 



A DREAM. 

And before the door was opened 
I heard loved voices say : 

"There are never any partings 
In this land of perfect day." 

Only a dream and it vanished 
With the first faint rays of day ; 

But it left a peace and calmness 
That never can pass away. 



84 




"Still I see her as she stood. 
In her winsome womanhood.'' 



TWO DAYS. 

Still I see her as she stood 

That fair day, 
With the lilies in her hand, 
Just the brightest of our band, 
Always happy, always gay, 
Winsome womanhood. 
Merry eyes 
In glad surprise. 
Saw the beautiful that lies 
In everything beneath the skies, 

Life was sweet and good. 
Happy days, summer days, 
Joyous fancies, light-heart ways, 
Still I see her as she stood 
In her winsome womanhood. 



8s 



TWO DAYS. 



And I see her one more day, 

One sad day, 
With some Hlies in her hand, 
First to leave our little band, 
Once so happy, once so gay. 
First to go away. 
Merry eyes 
In glad surprise. 
See the beautiful that lies 
In the world beyond the skies, 

In eternal day. 
Darksome days, winter days. 
And we could not see His ways 
Were the best for her alway. 
When our hearts were sad that day. 



86 



THE VACANT PLACE. 

The vacant place at the table 

Is the one we long to fill ; 
And we look up half expecting 

That the dear one's with us still. 
Our hearts long so for the absent, 

The voice with its old-time ring; 
It seems that back to our keeping 

Our longing the loved must bring. 

Perhaps it is just a fancy 

That a dead or absent friend, 
Is influenced by our longings 

And their messages do send 
By some ministering angel, 

To encourage us and cheer. 
When we bravely do with patience 

All the tasks we're given here. 

Or, it may be just our longings 

Make us better day by day. 
And in themselves prove comforters, 

If we wisely work and pray ; 
Till the vacant chair beside us 

Comes to be an angel's place 
Where in thought we see the features 

Of the dear, familiar face. 



87 



LIVING OVER. 

There are days in our lives we would gladly live over, 
There are others, ah, yes, we'd as gladly forget ; 
Would it pay to live o'er all those that were sunshine, 
And take all the dark ones so filled with regret ? 

There's the day on the mountain, the glorious sunset. 
The walk snd the talk as we came home at eve. 
A "red letter" day in the memory of friendship ; 
Would we live it all over on the morrow to grieve? 

There's the loved of our childhood, the hours spent with 

them, 
Such bright spots they seem as we often look back ; 
But who would live over again the sad partings? 
Say, wouldn't we rather the first pleasure lack? 

Ah, yes, it is best that we cannot live over 
Not even one day with its pleasures or pains. 
Except in sweet mem'ry where is stored for all ages 
What is best to be kept of Life's losses and gains. 



88 



MUSINGS OF A BLOTTER. 

They cal) me a blotter, worn out, may be so, 

But of business and pleasure, 

And gladness and sadness, 

And v/eal and woe ; 

All thoughts that come 

From the soul, through the pen, 

In an o'erflowing measure 

I know. 

Though I seem inanimate, dumb, 

Yet, they sink in my heart again and again. 

Till I'm human in grief and despair, 

Then again I'm light-hearted as air ; 

Aye, look at me well and perhaps you can see, 

Why the term just a blotter is given to me. 

That line of unkindness 

Was written in blindness. 

It brought on the morrow 

The keenest of sorrow ; 

Look again ! you will see there are words full of love 

That tried to blot out the line just above. 

"Forgive, ah, forgive. 

Let not bitterness live," 

After years of repentance 

I noted this sentence. 



89 



MUSINGS OF A BLOTTER. 

Great comfort it brought to my heart, 
Uniting two souls ne'er to part. 

Simple merry words of cheer, 

Ringing, singing, laughter bringing, 

You'll find are hidden here ; 

From their brightness and their lightness, 

They made a dark sky clear. 

Nonsense words? Perhaps, who knows 

But they're wisest words for some kinds of woes. 

Figures showing loss or gain — 

With a sad or glad refrain — 

Words that tell of death or birth. 

Bringing sorrow, bringing mirth. 

Are mingled here 

With tear or cheer. 

Blotting out, ah, who can say. 

The joy of life in one brief day, 

Or lessening some grief or pain. 

Until it seems a minor strain ; 

While I, a worn out blotter know, 

These joys and griefs that overflow, 

And in my heart so leal and true 

I keep Life's rosemary and rue. 



90 



DREAM VERSUS REALITY. 

I slept — and dreamed of violets — 

A foolish thing to do ! 
I should have been awake forsooth 

As I can prove to you. 

For at the door a serious knight 
Night cereus blooms in hand, 

Appealed to our electric bell, 
The faintest in the land ! 

But on I slept — 'twas twelve at night — 
And dreamed of violets blue, 

So missed the flowers I might have had, 
Alas ! boo hoo ! ! boo hoo ! ! ! 

Thus oft in life a laden ship 
Lies moored beside our door, 

While we by visions are enrapt 
And miss its golden store. 



91 



FLORENCE. 

In the valley of the Arno, 'neath a sunny southern sky, 
In the beauty of the Tuscan hills that round about thee lie, 
With thy olive groves, thy villas and thy gardens filled 

with flowers^ 
Thou restest, city beautiful, 'mid fair enchanted bowers ; 
And thy river, famous Arno, winds onward to the sea, 
And spreads thy fame in ev'ry land, thou Queen of Tus- 
cany. 

In the light and joy of spring-time, ^neath the hopeful 

skies of youth, 
In the beauty of fair maidenhood, of love and trust and 

truth, 
With Life's promises unfolding, as a rose from hour to 

hour. 
Lives thy namesake, a sweet maiden, stately as earth's 

fairest flower ; 
As thou art unto the Arno, its lily and its pride. 
So the maid is ours, to cheer us 'til the ebbing of Life's 

tide. 



92 



AT SIXTEEN. 

Picture of a dainty lass, 

In a gown of quaint old style, 
Tell me, did your winsome face 
Your fond lover's heart beguile? 
That you were most fair is seen, 
By your picture at sixteen. 

Happy days of long ago. 

Days of youth and spring-time fair, 
Did your lover praise your eyes. 
Gently stroke your glossy hair? 
Did he say you were his queen 
When you were just sweet sixteen? 

Fifty years have come and gone, 

Still you have a lover true ; 
As you look up in his face, 
And he fondly looks at you. 
Proud he is of you, I ween, 
As you were at sweet sixteen. 

Precious keepsake of the past, 

By this later lover kept ; 
With his infant joys you smiled. 
With his little sorrows wept. 
Picture of a maid serene. 
You're his mother at sixteen. 



93 



REFLECTED. 

For a frown, a frown's reflected, 

And a smile will bring a smile, 
And the whole time of a lifetime, 

Is such a Httle while ; 
For the pleasant word extended 

And the deed of joy and cheer, 
That has helped a brother's living. 

In his daily journey here 
Will be echoed down the ages, 

And will live for aye and aye, 
Till the wee time of a lifetime 

Joins eternity's bright day. 



94 




> 



a 
> 



H 



TO THE "VALLEY" RIVER. 

Oh, beautiful river! Oh, bright "Valley" River! 

Forever flow on in thy course to the sea; 
There are others, I know, that are broader and grander, 

Yet none is so charming as thou art to me. 

As curved is thy course as the fair line of beauty, 
Now in, and now out, as thou windest along; 

Thou art here among hills, and there in the lowlands. 
Delight of the oarsman ! Thou art worthy a song. 

How oft on thy banks did I stroll in my childhood, 
And list to thy murmurings, gentle and low, 

And wonder if thou couldst relate me a story. 
Of fairy or goblin, that I'd like to know. 

Thou remindest me often, oh beautiful river. 
Of how we should live, and that we should be 

Bright, peaceful and useful, and firm in our purpose. 
Pressing forward for aye to eternity's sea. 



95 



TO THE "valley"' RIV'ER. 



And when life is o'er, I but ask that this body, — 
The garment in lifetime that covered the soul, — 

Shall rest close beside thee, forever and ever, 
While the spirit is free as the years onward roll. 

Oh, beautiful river ! Oh, bright "Valley" River ! 

Forever flow on in thy course to the sea ; 
There are others, I know, that are broader and grander, 

Yet none is so charming as thou art to me. 



g6 



AN OLD RING. 

"With this ring, I thee do wed :" 

So long ago the words were said, 

That he who gave and she who wore, 

Have now a century or more 

Been laid to rest. 

But still the ring, the fragile thing, 

That round my finger now doth cling, 

Oft speaks to me of doubts and fears, 

A young wife's prayers, a mother's tears. 

For those she loved the best ; 

And could the litttle circlet tell 

The tale of life it knows so well 

What would it be? 

A song of joy, or one of woe. 

Trials and sorrows here below. 

Or life perfected, day by day, 

December's love as sweet as May, 

To endure throughout eternity. 

"Till death us part," 

Did either heart 

Wish the tie broken, 

The words unspoken? 

Oh, little circlet worn and old. 

The story of two lives you hold. 



97 



BE NOT DISCOURAGED. 

Be not discouraged, God knows our heart aches, 
He plans our living, whate'er befall ; 

Trust in His wisdom, though long the waiting, 
Be not discouraged. He guides us all. 

Be not discouraged, be not discouraged. 
He notes the sparrow lest it should fall ; 

Be not discouraged, be not discouraged, 
We are His children, He guides us all. 

Be not discouraged, dark clouds have linings. 
Look up and forward unto the light ; 

When the cloud passes we'll see the brightness 
Proves that He guided all through the night. 

Be not discouraged, be not discouraged, 
He notes the sparrow lest it should fall ; 

Be not discouraged, be not discouraged, 
We are His children, He guides us all. 



98 



PATIENCE, FOR THE HEART GROWS WEARY. 

Patience, for the heart grows weary ! 

Yet, I wonder could we Hve 
Just a life of our own planning 

If 'twould greater pleasure give. 
Would the glare of too much brightness 

Paralyze the heart and brain? 
To appreciate the sunshine 

Do we not need clouds and rain? 

When we've puzzled o'er the meaning 

Of some cross we've had to bear. 
Thinking that the All-Wise Father 

Didn't know and didn't care, 
We were groping in the darkness, 

Lo ! when we have reached the light, 
WV behold we've wondrous treasures 

That we gathered in our night ; 

That we ne'er had found had fortune 

Always kept a smiling face ; 
Thus the guiding hand of goodness 

In the darkness we can trace, 
Patience, though the heart grows weary, 

Sometime we shall understand 
That the life He planned was better. 

Than the one we could have planned. 



L.ofO. QQ 



IN THE MINUS AGE. 

On his feet were shoe-less shoes, 

And his clothes were clothes-less clothes ; 
He wore a hat-less hat on his head, 

While taking a doze-less doze. 
He sat on a bench-less bench, 

'Neath the shade of a shade-less tree. 
And thoiight-less thoughts of a dream-less dream. 

Stole over his memory. 

His home was a home-less home, 

By the side of a sea-less sea ; 
His coal was only the coal-less coal. 

Of a future century. 
His gold he put in a trust-less trust, 

He voted a vote-less vote, 
And with a beautiful penless pen, 

A wire-less message wrote. 

He boasted not of science, 

For wonders had just begun. 
He lived in the wondrous minus age 

And saw the sun-less sun. 
With an earth-less earth revolving. 

And a moon-less moon in view. 
When he sent friends a cable-less cable 

They telepathed, "How do you do." 



100 



FANNY^S SHOE. 

Bob keeps a flower, 

Jack hoards a glove, 
Tom a blue ribbon 

Of his lady love, 
But, I treasure my Fanny's shoe, 
Tied with a ribbon of royal hue. 

Bob says, " 'tis silly," 

Jack says, "bad taste, 
On just an old shoe 

My feelings to waste." 
Still, I treasure my Fanny's shoe, 
Tied with a ribbon of royal hue. 

Tom knew the secret, 

Showed them the shoe, 
All then exclaimed, 

As it came into view ; 
"Such a love token, just a horseshoe. 
Tied with a ribbon of royal hue." 



lOI 



LITTLE ELIZABETH. 

Sandman's coming, little maid, 
He will catch you I'm afraid ; 
Better hie to Sleepy Hollow, 
He's afraid down there to follow, 
He can't enter Bye-low land 
For his hands are full of sand ; 
Hurry, little Elizabeth, 
Make the sandman out of breath. 

Sandman's coming, hurry dear, 
Or he'll catch you I've a fear ; 
Roll up in this slumber robe, 
Softest one on all the globe ; 
Dreamland's full of sweets and toys 
For the little girls and boys ; 
Hurry, little Elizabeth, 
Make the sandman out of breath. 



102 




"Hurry, little Elizabeth, 

Make the sandman out of breath." 



LITTLE ELIZABETH. 



Sandman's coming, he's 'most here, 
Close your eyes up tight, my dear, 
Then he'll have to go away 
And tease some one else to-day; 
For the sandman cannot follow 
And get into Sleepy Hollow; 
Hurry, little Elizabeth, 
Make the sandman out of breath. 

Sandman's coming, do not stay. 
Lest he throws the sand this way ; 
Hush-a-Bye's a pretty town 
In the Nodland of renown, 
In the valley Sleepy Hollow 
Where the sandman cannot follow ; 
Hie thee, little Elizabeth, 
Make the sandman out of breath. 



J 03 



THE YEARS. 

Springtime and summer, autumn and snow, 

Cycle on cycle the years they go, 

Hurrying, scurrying into the past, 

Sadness nor gladness can make them last. 

Springtime of hope, summer of joy. 

Autumn of faith, and all the alloy 

Gone from our lives when we reach the snow 

With weary step, yet with hearts aglow 

With the flowers of May, the roses of June, 

And the gentle warmth of an autumn noon. 

Cycle on cycle the years go by. 

Hurrying, scurrying on they fly ; 

More precious each one we add to our store 

That is waiting for us on eternity's shore; 

Sometime in the beautiful time to be 

Their beautiful texture we shall see. 

The love and help we gave they'll hold 

And they'll look to our eyes like burnished gold. 



104 



A JUNE EVENING. 

There was fragrance in the air, 
There were roses everywhere ; 
Honeysuckles bright with dew 
Sent abroad their sweetness, too ; 
And the orange blossoms vied 
With the roses by their side, 
Until the garden seemed to be 
A little glimpse of heaven to me. 

There were flowers everywhere, 
And their sweetness banished care 
Till one forgot the pulsing throng 
Which bears us forward all day long, 
Forgot that strife and wrong and sin 
In any life can enter in, 
Forgot all, save the present hour, 
And a June time evening's power. 

There were pleasant thoughts and friends, 
And the charm their presence lends ; 
There were flowers culled with care, 
By a maiden young and fair ; 
And the stars came out above 
Ordered by a God, whose love. 
To counter-balance ills and strife 
Puts June time evenings in each life. 



105 



A DAY IN SUFFERN, N. Y. 

The fleecy white clouds float over the mountains, 
As billows roll over the rocks by the sea ; 

They cast o'er the earth their soft gliding shadows. 
And with ev'ry shadow come visions to me. 

Of days long ago, when here on these mountains, 
The troublesome Cow-boys and Tories held sway ; 

While yet farther on, on a rock our Commander. 
Kept watch of the enemy's fleet in the bay. 

The Ramapo Pass is peopled with soldiers, 
In fancy I see the entrenchments they made ; 

As here, on this bright June-day, I am dreaming, 
And watching the mountains in sunlight and shade. 

At the Pass, Colonel Burr, to guard it is stationed, 
With headquarters here in that long ago time ; 

The very air breathes the force and the vigor 
That gave to our soldiers their courage sublime. 

The iron horse speeds to-day through the valley, 
The valley historic of scenes of the past ; 

The fleecy white clouds float over the mountains, 
And I am entranced by the shadows they cast. 



1 06 



THE COMMUTERS. 

The last boat's in for the five-thirty-nine, 
Home we are going, to your home and mine ; 
Note, as you look down the aisle of the car 
At the commuters, how tired they are, — 
Littlejohn, Clarkson, Finch, Muir and Brown, 
And thirty odd more who stop at our town, 
Each one, in the same place, day after day. 
Measuring the hours of his three-score away ; — 
Into the city with the day's first dawn. 
Full of ambition as new hopes are born ; 
Working and hustling, eight hours are gone. 
Out from life's measure that was theirs in the morn. 

The last boat's in for the five-thirty-nine. 
Home we are going, to your home and mine ; 
Engineer Conklin at the "throttle" stands, 
And away we go o'er the famed marsh lands ; 
The train-man calls, as the trip is begun, 
''The first station, on this line, is Harrison." 
The tickets are punched as along we speed. 
While the passengers talk, or sleep or read ; 
When the stations are reached 'tis very plain 
Commuters the platforms with ease will gain, 
(The on-going passengers push in vain). 
For Conductor Conway runs the train. 



107 



THE COMMUTERS. 

When our last boat's in on another line, 
Home we are going to your home and mine ; 
Loved ones are waiting to welcome us there 
Come we in age or in yotith's time so fair. 
Kindness of thought, and deeds good and true, 
These are the passports we need to go through 
Over this line, to that happy domain, 
Where nothing is known of sorrow or pain ; 
And the All- Wise-One in His love divine, 
Will journey with us the whole of the line ; 
Like tired commuters of the five-thirty-nine. 
Home we'll be going to your home and mine. 



io8 



THE "CONDEMNED" BRIDGE. 
Over the Hohokus River. 

Those in authority had said, 

'Tlace on the bridge a sign ; 
Condemn it for the pubHc's use 

In storm or weather fine." 
For two years, he who passed it o'er 

Read there the words that stated ; 
At his "own risk" he used the bridge, 

If early or belated. 

The bridge, the little river spanned, 

The weeks and months went by ; 
And still it stood an arch between 

The water and the sky. 
No harm had come to him who passed, 

The bridge but did its duty, 
And faithful was, although condemned 

And lacking youth and beauty. 



109 



THE CONDEMNED BRIDGE. 



Storms came, the little river rose, 

A mighty current here ; 
And all the bridges not condemned 

Went down both far and near. 
One only stood, when rain and flood 

Had thoroughly abated, 
The one "condemned" for public use 

For a new verdict waited. 

We often find in daily life, 

That folks like bridges are, 
Condemned unworthy of our thought, 

Till troubles rise^ to mar 
Some perfect scene, and then we find 

Them helpful and uplifting, 
While outward borne the sunshine friends, 

Go with the current drifting. 



no 



CHOOSE THE BRIGHT SIDE. 

There ar^ always two sides to life, dear, 

As there are two sides to the street ; 
No need to walk in the shade, dear. 

When there's sunshine bright and sweet. 
Cross over out of the shades of doubt. 

It is only a wee short way 
To the other side of the street, dear, 

To the bright and gladsome day. 

There are always two sides to life, dear, 

Don't live on the darksome side ; 
A word of cheer and a laugh, dear, 

Will scatter the shadows wide. 
Lend a helping hand to those who need, 

To the sorrowing comfort give, 
'Twill help you out of the dark, dear, 

And into the light to live. 

There are always two sides to life, dear, 

As there are two sides to the street ; 
And the best in Nature thrives, dear, 

Out in the sunshine sweet. 
Unhappiness, fear and discontent 

Gain strength in the darksome way, 
Then cross to the other side, dear, 

To the beautiful light of day. 



Ill 



"IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH." 

"In sickness and in health," these words 

Were spoken long ago, 
And the "I will" that followed them, 

Setting the heart aglow 
Of the sweet- faced maid who heard the vow. 
Her benediction then as now. 

"In sickness and in health," these words 

To her have made him great, 
E'en though she knows it is his hand, 

That guides our Ship of State. 
Her admiration is for his love. 
The pledge fulfilled, to her ark, the dove. 

"In sickness and in health." the world 

Their steadfast power feel. 
And the "I will" of long ago 

Will guard our Country's keel 
In war or peace, from rise to set of sun. 
For love of country and of home are one. 

Written August i8, 1901, after reading a newspaper account 
of an interview with Mrs. McKinley during her trip to Cali- 
fornia, in which she said her admiration for President Mc- 
Kinley was "for his constant and uniform care, love and atten- 
tion to an invalid wife." 



112 



OUR WELL-BELOVED. 
(William McKinley, September 14, 1901.) 

We dwell on his statesmanship with pride, 
We love, of his life, its Christ-like side. 

His trusting faith in the All-wise One, 
"It is God's way ; His will be done." 
His loving care of his faithful wife, 
Ev'ry day of a busy life ; 
His thoughtful word for the deadly foe, 
"Let no one harm him." Aye, we know 
He must have sat at the Master's feet, 
To speak forgiveness so complete. 
"Nearer, my God, to Thee," his prayer, 
"E'en though it be a cross" to bear. 
Comforting words for the faithful heart 
Who knew the hour had come to part. 
The "Good-bye, all," at hfe's ebbing tide, 
A message to our Nation wide ; 
No one forgotten — his great heart knew 
The grief his people must pass through. 
With sorrowing hearts we kneel and pray, 
"God's will be done, not ours," alway. 

Vv'e dwell on his statesmanship with pride, 
We love, of his life, its Christ-like side. 



113 



DO YOUR BEST. 

If you have a song worth singing, 

Put ycur whole soul in the song ; 
Let your pulse beat to its music, 

It will help the song along; 
For the hearer feels the keynote 

And the import it would tell, 
And the song that's worth the singing, 

Is a song worth singing well. 

If vou have a task worth doing, 

Though the humblest kind of work. 
Put your whole thought in your labor. 

Nor its slightest detail shirk. 
If a thing is worth the doing. 

It is worth the doing well, 
And success will surely find you 

And abroad your merit tell. 

If you have an hour for idling. 

Give the time to rest and play; 
Aye, forget that work awaits you 

'Tis by far the better way. 
For whate'er is worth the doing, 

It is worth the doing well, 
Whether it is song or labor, 

Or an hour's resting spell. 



114 



CAPE COD. 

I am dreaming, I am dreaming 

Of the brightest Summer land ; 
Where long years ago in quiet, 

Lived the Nauset Indian band. 
I am longing for the pine woods, 

And the beaches that they trod ; 
For the pine woods and the beaches 

For a glimpse of old Cape Cod. 

I am pining, T am pining 

For the fragrance of the breeze ; 
That is wafted back and forward. 

And that breathes of distant seas, 
I am longing for its ocean, 

For its breakers and its roar ; 
And its bay's soft, gentle music 

As it whispers to the shore. 

I am thinking, I am thinking 

Of its whip-poor-will's low call ; 
With the punishment it threatens 

That it never gives at all. 
I am longing for the stories 

That its people know so well ; 
Its arbutus and pink yarrow, 

And its scarlet pimpernel. 



115 



CAPE COD. 

I am sighing, I am sighing 

For a sight of cliffs and hghts, 
That gleam so white by daytime. 

And are beacons stormy nights ; 
I am longing for its meadows 

And its beach-grass covered sod, 
For the Summer land of resting, 

For a glimpse of old Cape Cod. 



ii6 



MAY. 

Father Time's most winsome daughter 

Is in town; 
Of the softest shade of green 

Is her gown ; 
And she's saying all the while, 
With the sweetness of her smile, 
Till your heart she doth beguile, 

"Do not frown." 

Do not frown, the flov/ers are springing 

Ev'ry-where, 
Let your heart be filled with gladness. 

Not with care ; 
Make the old world bright to-day, 
Cheer some one along the way, 
Help to make, like winsome May, 

Life more fair. 



117 



GOING BACK. 

We are going back to the country, my dear old wife 

and I ; 
Back to the Genesee Valley, for which we daily sigh; 
Back to the old red farm house, with the lilacs by the 

door, 
The porch and the scarlet runners that we've talked of 

o'er and o'er. 

We came to live in the city, with our eldest daughter, Jo ; 
From our home in the quiet valley, nigh on to a year 

ago; 
WeVe tried the city ways of life, but somehow it doesn't 

please, 
We two plain country people to be always at our ease ; 

Nor dressed as if for meeting, from the morn till set of 

sun. 
And sit in stuffy parlors, I tell you it isn't fun 
To those who all their life time have been used to light 

and air. 
To shut them in a band box is more than they can bear. 



ii8 



GOING BACK. 

Now, Jo's the best of daughters, but her furniture's very 

fine, 
And 'twould fade and spoil it terribly to see the bright 

sunshine ; 
And we can't get used to supper in the middle of the 

day. 
Nor to dinner in the evening, when the day has passed 

away. 

Our room is up three flights of stairs — Jo's ceilings are 

so high — 
It seems that all our climbing ought to have brought us 

to the sky; 
But it hasn't and I'm thinking that the country is the 

place 
To climb straight up to Heaven and to feel an inward 

grace. 

Why, to see the grass a-growing, and the buds a-spring- 

ing, too, 
And to hear the wild birds singing a song that's always 

new, 
And to see the sun a-wooing everything that lives and 

grows. 
And the leaves so wildly flying when the Autumn wind it 

blows, 



119 



GOING BACK. 

And the mantle white of Winter that is spread o'er all 

the earth, 
They all are teaching Heaven for all that they are worth, 
And the learned city preacher has no sermon half so 

good 
As that you get from Nature, nor so easily understood. 

4 

So, we're going back to the country, my dear old wife 

and I, 
For old folks can't forget old ways, no matter how they 

try. 
Back to quiet ways of living and old paths that we have 

trod. 
Where instead of works of man we can see the works of 
God. 



120 



AN ENDORSEMENT. 

Sing me the songs that touch the heart, 

And keep it warm and true ; 
The songs of the homely ways of life, 

That are old, yet always new. 
The songs of the mind may do for some, 

But songs of the heart I praise. 
And the ones that thrill me through and through 

Are the songs of the every days. 



121 



MEMORIES. 

A strain of music, a wild bird's trill, 

A perfume-laden Southern breeze ; 

A cloud whose shadow o'er meadows play 

As billows roll o'er tranquil seas ; 

A bunch of flowers, a walk in Spring, 

An Autumn day with leaves of gold, 

Will waken memories in the heart 

And re-create the days of old. 

They are tiny keys, unlocking doors 

To other hours and days and years ; 

And on we wander, through all the past, 

Sometimes with smiles, sometimes with tears. 

We hear the voices of friends long dead, 

Of others now in distant lands ; 

So real they seem, we half expect 

To grasp at once their outstretched hands. 

They're only phantoms frail as mists. 
That come and go, but cannot last, 
This for the moment we quite forget 
As some one thing recalls the past. 
Though soon they vanish, they leave with us 
A peace which soothes sad thoughts away ; 
Our lives are brightened by memories, 
Our hearts made warmer day by day. 



122 



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NASTURTIUMS. 

They came one summer morning 

With a bright and cheerful way, 
Their spicy fragrance filHng 

The room the Hve long day, 
This was their little lesson : 

"Be brave to bear your part," 
I was not brave, I had been ill, 

And sadness filled my heart. 

Then, as I looked upon them, — 

Bright banners, red and gold, — 
I thought if tiny flowers 

So much of good can hold 
That He, whose wisdom prompted 

The thought, the flowers to send. 
Would in His great compassion 

Just help me to the end. 

Their fragrance breathed their meaning, 

There's "honor to the brave" 
Who battle 'gainst the topmost crest 

Of each advancing wave. 
With will to conquer, through the fight 

Unthought of help will be. 
Given to all, to make them strong. 

As were the flowers to me. 



123 



FROM BARNEGAT BAY. 

From Bamegat Bay on a summer's day, 
My love and I went sailing away ; 
Went sailing- away far out to sea, 
With breezes blowing so light and free. 

Oh! we sailed away for a week and a day, 
My love and I, from Barnegat Bay ; 
I talked to my love of the dreams of my life. 
But I never once asked her to be my wife. 

"How shocking!" I hear the discreet ones say, 
To sail thus a week from Barnegat Bay ; 
If Polly cares not, pray why should I? 
So another trip I am planning to try. 

We will rock all night, and we'll sail all day 

In the waters so blue off Barnegat Bay. 

No chaperon by, when I praise my love 

And call her pet names, as, "my white winged dove.' 

What is that about morals I hear you say, 
I do wrong in thus sailing from Barnegat Bay? 
Oh, nonsense, my friend, to talk so is folly. 
For my beautiful love is my sail-boat "Polly." 



124 



THE BULLETIN IMP. 

A queer little imp once chanced to spy, 

As he looked from the corner of his ''wickedest" eye, 

While perched on a portrait, of Lincoln, high, 

A family bulletin hanging nigh. 

The words of the bulletin "out" and "in," 

He watched with a little satanic grin ; 

Then he crossed his legs and held his chin. 

And waited a chance his fun to begin. 

Home from shopping the ladies came. 

And pushed the word "in" to the side of each name, 

The imp slipped down and changed the same 

And that little action just made his fame. 

For since that time, to the present day, 

Over men and women he's held his sway, 

To certain ones when they're in, they say 

To the imp, tell the caller "I'm out to-day," 

So he changes the sign, is it a sin? 

And he marks them "out," although they're "in." 

Then he laughs the imp, a satanic grin. 

And into each conscience sticks a pin. 

This is the legend he told to me. 

The "Bulletin Imp" with greatest glee. 



125 



A SUMMER IDYL. 

In a hammock across the way, 
Sat Dorothy swinging, 
And softly singing 
A wonderful lay. 

"Love's the supreme force, 

Supreme good of life, 
Makes easy its burdens, 

Soothes worry and strife ; 
Love's the supreme force, 
Supreme good of life." 

I, from my window, that summer day. 
Saw Dorothy swinging, 
Heard Dorothy singing 
That sweet little lay. 

"Love's the supreme force," 

I thought; is it true? 
If so, on the morrow 

I know what I'll do ; 
I'll ask her to wed me, 
Sweet Dorothy True. 



126 




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A SUMMER IDYL. 

Alas, for resolves ! the very next morn 
Brought cards that told plainly, 
I should have wooed vainly, 
That hope was forlorn. 

"Love's the supreme force, 

Supreme good of life." 
My chum won sweet Dorothy, 

Her sister's my wife, 
And "Love's the supreme force, 
Supreme good of life.'^ 



12;^ 



JUNE TIME AND ROSES AND LOVE. 

Bright was the day when you gave me your hand, 

Roses were blooming in all the broad land, 

But the heart that you gave me, to cherish with care, 

Was brighter than June days and the roses so fair ; 

So, sing with me, sweet-heart, the whole world's in tune. 

Our love is as perfect as the roses in June. 

Sorrow may come, dear, what life has been free? 
Yet my aim shall be ever to shield it from thee. 
When we reach the December of life may we say : 
"Our love is as bright as it was that June day." 
When eternity dawns may the angels above 
Sing the power that rules is the magic of love. 



128 



PLAYMATES. 

Two happy playmates together, 

We waded the self-same pool, 
We studied the self-same lessons 

From the self-same books at school ; 
We gathered flowers in spring-time, 

And berries when days were long, 
Tnen nuts in the golden autumn, 

With many a shout and song. 

We knew the haunts of the flowers, 

The robin and yellow bird ; 
With rapturous hearts of childhood 

Their glorious songs we heard. 
We climbed the steps to the schoolhouse,- 

The old white school on the hill, — 
If we slowly went to lessons. 

We homeward went with a will. 

We coasted and skated in winter 

And gloried in snow drifts deep ; 
In those days we did no wooing 

Of the wayward god of sleep. 
We liA'ed in an air of freedom 

Unknown to the city child, 
And Nature taught us her lessons 

In her gentle ways or wild. 



129 



PLAYMATES. 



But those days and years have vanished, 

Now hurrying feet go by, 
And between the city buildings 

We catch a glimpse of the sky ; 
Yet, sometimes of an evening. 

As we talk the old days o'er. 
We forget that we are grown-ups 

And are playmates as of yore. 



130 



LINES SENT WITH A PHOTOGRAPH. 

The photographer touched out every line — 

He never left one in my face ! — 
And as I'm not skilled, I can't put them back^ 

So I add these few lines in their place. 

Some day when The Artist of artists shall take 
My soul, my true likeness, I pray, 

In pity He'll touch out the wrinkles and lines, 
As earth's artist has touched them to-day. 



131 



OUR SAVING. 

*Tis not our creed nor pious preaching 

That proves we're good ; 
Nor pondering o'er the sacred teaching 

Of Him who stood 
And talked beside the Sea of GaHlee. 
'Tis not devoting one day in the seven 

To sing God's praise ; 
Nor making people think of heaven 

In set, planned ways, 
That'll be our saving when the soul is free. 

'Tis doing little kindly acts. 

From day to day ; 
Not the distributing of tracts 

Along the way, 
That'll be our saving when this life is o'er. 
A generous heart with words of cheer 

For those oppressed; 
Comforting all whom we can here, 

That is the best 
Each one can do, and God will ask no more. 



132 



A RED LETTER RECORD. 

When perplexities and doubts 

And the worries of the day 
Tumble one upon the other, 

In a topsy-turvy way ; 
When it's hustle here and hurry there, 

Keep on the jump and go, 
Lest the world should stop revolving, 

If you go a little slow, 

When the heart feels full of bitterness 

At the way man jostles man, 
Till you think the term of "Christian" 

Doesn't enter in the plan 
Of the making of the people 

Whom you meet the whole day through. 
When your cup seems overflowing 

With the wormwood and the rue, 

Try a bit at keeping records, 

Have a slip of paper near, 
As you enter up your troubles, 

Enter, too, each word of cheer. 
Don't omit the smile that helped you. 

Though its mission seemed so brief; 
Nor forget the friendly hand clasp 

When your heart was full of grief. 



133 



A RED LETTER RECORD. 



Nay, say not, "they will not balance," 

Keep your record strictly true, 
Every cloud that's black and heavy, 

Veils a sky that's clear and blue ; 
And the wee "Red-Letter Record" 

Kept when skies were overcast, 
Proves there was a silver lining, 

When the bitterness is past. 



134 



IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? 

Life is worth the Hving, 

When the sky is blue, 
Life is worth the hving 

When it has a sombre hue, 
If some one waits your coming 

When the day is through. 
Life is worth the living 

To greet that heart so true. 

Life is worth the living 

If each day you cheer 
Some one faint and weary 

Who is battling here, 
'Neath a load that's heavy 

On a road that's drear. 
Life is worth the living 

To give that word of cheer. 

Life is worth the living 

If you'll make it so, 
Helping folks to sunshine 

You'll forget your woe ; 
For the warmth of friendship 

Keeps the heart aglow. 
Then make life worth living 

By making sunshine grow. 



135 



IN THE TWILIGHT. 

Play softly on your violin, 

As the twilight shadows fall, 
The old-fashioned tunes so soothing, 

That will olden times recall. 
For to-night I'm very tired 

With the worries of the day, 
And the quiet simple music 

Is more restful than the gay. 

"Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber," 

Play as mother used to sing, 
When we restless little children 

Would to her our sorrows bring. 
Play ''Sweet Afton" very softly. 

And dear mother'll sing it now, 
And she sits here close beside me 

With her hand upon my brow. 

Play no music grand or classic 

On this pleasant eventide. 
But play gently, little sister, 

The sweet hymn, "With Me Abide." 
Play it while the day is fading. 

And all Nature seemeth blest, 
While we thank the heav'nly Father, 

For the hour of twilight rest. 



'&>' 



136 




■"E'en as a child looks up. 



LOMBARDY POPLARS. 

Like sentinels they stand around the old abandoned 

farm 
Where guard they keep and watch, a-stir with ev'ry 

breath of air, 
As if in fear that more harm come to rob the once loved 

home, 
And ever with their upstretched arms, t'ward light they 

reach for strength, 
Imploring help to rise above the changing winds of earth, 
To gain the height of perfect calm, where winds that 

make them fear, 
To-day, where duty binds, are stilled in everlasting 

peace. 
So, we look lip and try to penetrate the mists of doubt 
And fear, that rise to mar our perfect faith, e'en as a 

child 
Looks up and tries to fathom space that lies beyond the 

stars. 
Wherein awaits the calm, the peace and Guiding Hand 

that bids 
The poplar, man and child look up for never failing help. 



137 



"ALL THINGS COME ROUND TO HIM WHO 
WILL BUT WAIT." 

•'All things come round to him who will but wait," 
So said the mother to the child, 

Who when refused some longed-for toy- 
Looked up through tears and sweetly smiled, 

Trusting the wisdom of the one 

Who for her child knew what was best, 

Oh, could we keep our childhood's faith 
Indeed, hov/ truly we were blest ! 

"All things come round to him who will but wait," 

So said the child in after years, 
As o'er the folded hands he bowed 

And tried to smile through blinding tears. 
The mother's lips seemed to repeat ; 

Take courage, heart so desolate ; 
In God's good time we'll meet again, 

"All things come round to him who'll wait." 



138 



WHAT'S THE USE. 

What's the use of always fretting 
If you're doing the best you can? 

Will the fretful words you're saying 
Ever make you a better man? 

Is there any use in sighing, 

Sorrowing those you ought to cheer? 
Will it lift the cloud that's passing 

Or your pathway make more clear? 

Can you comfort find in pining 
For something you cannot attain? 

Don't you know there's something waiting 
Which you'd really better gain? 

What's the use of always mourning 
For the loved ones that are dead? 

Better care more for the living 
And unkind words leave unsaid. 

What's the use of always preaching ; 

Isn't it better on the whole 
To teach the good that you are doing 

Is the saving of the soul? 



U9 



WHAT S THE USE. 



What's the use of hours wasting? 

Life's too short for vain regret. 
He who spends his time repining 

All his benefits forget. 

He sees not the sun that's shining 
On a world that's full of love ; 

Doesn't know we have the making 
Of heaven on earth, to last above. 



140 



THE RHYME OF THE MOVE. 

Family on your right 

Feeling very sad, 
Family on your left 

Feeling not so bad ; 
Family down the street, 

Think they can improve. 
Bless me ! this is pleasant, 

Always on the move. 

Packing up the dishes, 

Wrapping them with care ; 
Cleaning bric-a-brac. 

Dust is everywhere ! 
Putting books in boxes, 

Taking curtains down ; 
Everybody wearing 

Just a little frown. 

Living on a wagon 

One day in a year, 
Is enough to sadden. 

And call forth a tear. 
You're so very tired. 

With what you find to do, 
Where to put so many things, 

Only wish you knew. 

141 



THE RHYME OF THE MOVE. 



Up before it's daylight 

Tying bedding up ; 
Taking morning coffee 

From a broken cup ; 
Thinking of the settHng 

Makes your spirits gay ; 
Bless me ! isn't it pleasant 

Every moving day. 

Down at the very bottom 

Is all you want to find 
In a box or barrel, 

But you mustn't mind ; 
If on top are others, 

On your settling day, 
Do not blame the packer, 

Whatever you may say. 

By the time you're settled, 

Feeling at your ease, 
You'll find the house you've taken 

Doesn't exactly please ; 
Try and make it home like. 

Never have a fear ; 
Bless me ! there'll be moving 

Again another year. 



142 



I WONDER WHY. 

I often wonder why it is 

Tears come when we are glad, 

And why it is some pleasantry 
Brings smiles when we are sad. 

I wonder why so oft we fail 
When striving to do right; 

And those who do not try to climb 
So often reach the height. 

I wonder why the days of youth 

Seem to go slowly by ; 
And why it is with each new year 

They swifter seem to fly. 

I wonder why some lives are bright- 
With pleasure overflow — 

And why it is that other lives 
But sorrow seem to know. 



143 



I WONDER WHY. 



I wonder why a little word 
So often makes us strong; 

And why the mem'ry of a smile 
Will cheer us all dav long:. 



't»* 



I wonder if our wonderings 
Will be answered by and by, 

For, if they are, then we shall know 
Just every reason why. 



14/ 



NO REPLY. 

What is a year or what is a day, 

When the year or the day has passed away? 

A year to live or a moment to die, 

We should choose between them without a sigh ; 

And we choose, oh, yes, the year to live, 

At the end of that time can we reason give 

Why 'twould not have been better to die ? 

Ah, me, I listen ; there is no reply. 

If some one friend would come back and say 
That life was night and that death was day; 
Come back from the land that is now a dream, 
And prove that death was only a gleam 
Of sunshine, that to die was to gain. 
To meet our loved, to be freed from pain, 
The world would be filled with one great cry, 
Not for to live, but the moment to die. 



145 



GOOD-NIGHT. 

"Good-night," the mother softly says, 
And fondly strokes each dimpled hand. 

Then asks God's blessing shall attend 
To guard her little sleeping band. 

Blue eyes and brown of angels dream, 
And smiling show their great delight, 

The mother bends and kisses each, 

And softly says, ''Good-night, good-night.'" 

"Good-night," two grown up children say, 
And sadly stroke a thin, cold hand ; 

Then ask that God shall give them strength 
To journey to that unknown land. 

Blue eyes and brown are sad at heart. 
They bend and kiss the brow so white ; 

The mother sleeps, she does not hear 

Them softly say, "Good-night, good-night." 

"Good-night," we'll say when Death has come. 
Then angels in their home so bright 

Will welcome us and softly say, 

"Good morning," for our last good-night. 



146 



JOY AND SORROW. 

Just a smile, a smile of sadness, — 
One more grief the heart could bear,- 

The new cross she took and simply- 
Bowed her head in silent prayer. 

Just a sob, a sob of gladness. 
And the heart long used to care. 

From reaction leaped to silence ; 
Joy had answered Sorrow's prayer. 



147 



A SUMMER AFTERNOON. 

Over the old porch the roses are climbing, 

The sweet honeysuckle the lattice peeps through; 
Big drowsy humble bees drone at their labor, 

The sun has sipped all of the fresh morning dew. 
The box and the mint by the gate and by door step 

Are adding their fragrance to gladden the day, 
While grandfather sits in the porch, just dreaming; 

Contentedly idling the hours away. 

Under the pine trees the children are playing. 

Their laughter makes melody sweet to the ear, 
And grandfather smiles and dreams 'mid their number 

Is one little face to his memory dear. 
Down in the hedge at the end of the driveway, 

A yellow throat warbler is singing his praise 
And filling the air with thanks to his Maker, 

For the beauty and joy of summer-time days. 

Gentle soft breezes are stirring the curtains, 

The leaves lightly sway on an uppermost bough; 
While far away off, the tinkle and tinkle 

Is heard from the bell of the old brindled cow. 
Dreams of the present, the past and the future, 

Oh ! happy vacations that end all too soon. 
And whether 'tis joy or sorrow shall follow, 

Give thanks for a summer day's bright afternoon. 



148 





"One little face to his memory dear." 



THE FLOWERS. 

The flowers he gave were heliotrope, 
And fair moss roses, violets blue; 

Some arbor vitae, ivy leaves. 
And last of all a sprig of yew. 

He gave them as a friend might give, 
A friend at parting, flowers rare ; 

Yet well each knew, the other knew. 
The meaning of each flower so fair. 

She took them smiling back her thanks, 

And for a moment o'er them bent ; 
But from her manner none might know 
She cared for aught the flowers meant. 

They had met in life too late to love — 
For she was bound b)^ earlier ties — 

Still had they met in youthful days, 
It might have then been otherwise. 

But now too honorable and just 

Were both to listen or of love to speak ; 
The flowers alone the other told, 
That human nature oft is weak. 



T49 



THE FLOWERS. 



She to her household duties went, 
Her husband bade his friend adieu ; 

But why his friend ne'er came again, 
One wondered and the other knew. 

In doing good he spends his life, 

She spends her's freeing home of cares ; 

The flowers faded long ago. 
And every heart a burden bears. 



150 



MORNING AND EVENING. 

The world of childhood would have no night. 

It would always have endless day ; 
That is, if the children could make a world 

And could have it their own sweet way. 
'Tis a wonderful land they dream about. 

When the western sky is red, 
Where there'd never be any getting up 

Nor any going to bed. 

But when youth is gone and age comes on, 

And our hearts are sore oppressed 
By the tides that have cast us back and forth- 

And given no time for rest, 
Then we dream again of another world 

Of a world from sorrow free ; 
Then we long for the night that brings the day 

That dawns in eternity. 



151 



A LITTLE MONARCH. 

Wee Janet, sweet Janet, 

Strange a baby may, 
In a life of two short years. 

Hold such wondrous sway. 
Just a dimple or a tear, 

Lo ! your world bows down, 
And your subjects tremble. 

If you chance to frown. 

Wee Janet, sweet Janet, 

Wisdom of the sage, 
Cannot win so many hearts 

As your smiles engage. 
Homes where plenty is or want. 

Find that it is true. 
Baby is the monarch. 

Just the same as you. 

Wee Janet, sweet Janet, 

May your sceptre be. 
Just a bar of human love 

And tender sympathy. 
Wield it often, wield it well, 

As you older grow, 
And you'll be a monarch 

All will want to know. 



152 



A PSALM OF DRESS. 

Tell me not, in idle fashion, 
Dress is but an empty show ! 

When misses have for composition 
''Dress of twenty years ago." 

Dress was plain ! And dress was fancy ! 

But the past is now the place 
For the dresses of Aunt Nancy, 

With their ribbons, frills and lace. 

Not with pleasure, not with sorrow, 
Look I on the style that's past ; 

But I hope that each to-morrow 
Finds it better than the last. 

Art is long and fashion's changing. 
And our hearts are strong and true; 

And they're always, ever ranging. 
Towards improvement in the new. 

In the world's broad field of action, 
We are placed to care for life ; 

Not to dress for mere attraction 
But for health to bear the strife. 



153 



A PSALM OF DRESS. 



Trust no fashion, howe'er tasteful, 

If your health will injured be; 
Think, dress, live, but be not wasteful, 

Of the life God s:ave to thee. 



fe' 



Lives of ''fashion plates" remind us 
We must make our lives more grand, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
^lore than footprints on the sand. 

Dresses — that perhaps another, 
Bound by fashion's iron rod — 

Like Aunt Nancy's, or some other. 
Will be called so very odd. 

Let us, then, be up and dressing. 
Dress, with room for hearts to beat ; 

Ever onward, upward pressing. 
Pressing forward, no retreat. 



154 



EVERARD. 

The parting kindergarten song and good-bye had been 

said, 
"Bhie eyes" and **Brown" and ''Curly Locks" had start- 
ed on ahead, 
Then back they came and waited for a manly little man, 
And told him, in their childish way, of how they had a 

plan, 
"We will not go straight home," they said, "but by some 

other way, 
And see some men a-building as we did one other day." 
I listened to their pleadings and wondered if they'd fail, 
There was no need, I might have known, they'd coax 

without avail. 
"My mamma says, — Tt is not right to go home any way. 
But just directly, as I came,' — and so I shall obey." 
He ?aid no more, but turned and walked the way he came 

at morn, 
A happy look upon his face, of spiritual goodness born. 
Ah, little man, the way was short you had to travel here. 
And o'er your resting place the flow'rs have bloomed for 

many a year. 
The Master needed 3^ou to do some trusted work for 

Him, 
Your eyes behold eternal joy, while ours with tears are 

dim. 



155 



GREETINGS. 

Greetings for you, little men, 
To make your lives complete. 

Love for Herbert, love for Carl, 
Smiles and sunshine sweet. 

Rock-a-bye and lullaby, 
Songs of birds and butterfly. 
Tree tops tall and swaying boughs. 
Frisking lambs and lowing cows ; 
Songs of flowers in the dell, 
And more songs than I can tell; 
But the sweetest is the one 
That shall know no set of sun. 
Angels watching from the skies. 
Call it ''love" in Mamma's eyes. 

And this greeting, little men, 

Makes all lives complete 
Love for Herbert, love for Carl, 

Smiles and sunshine sweet. 



156 



RUBY'S CHILDREN. 

Nestled snugly in the valley 

Near a small New England town, 
Where old Mt. Tom and Holyoke 

Are always frowning down, 
Stands a farm house plain and solid, 

Built a hundred years ago, 
Ev'ry room is large and pleasant, 

Though the ceilings all are low. 

By the roadside it is standing, 

Grand old trees on either side, 
To this home in youth and beauty 

Ruby came a farmer's bride. 
She was young, just barely twenty, 

He was twice her age I'm told, 
She was lively, sweetly winning, 

He was stern and hard and cold. 



^-^7 



ruby's children. 



But they truly loved each other 

Shared each other's cares and joys, 
And in time around their hearth-stone 

Gathered merry girls and boys. 
Ruby loved and taught them wisely, 

Seldom were the children chid. 
She had taught them to be trusted, 

Naught about her house was hid. 

But one Sabbath a great preacher 

In their neighborhood would preach, 
And the parents started early 

Thus the meeting house to reach ; 
Took with them the older children, 

Left at home two girls, two boys. 
Told them as it was the Sabbath^ 

Peace should reign instead of noise. 

On the top shelf in the pantry 

Cakes of maple sugar stood; 
In great buckets, golden corn meal, 

Just to tempt these children good. 
Soon they melted up some sugar. 

Stirred it full of golden meal, 
^'Making yeast cakes," so they called it, 

As they worked with earnest zeal. 



1=^8 



RUBY S CHILDREN. 

On the stones along the driveway, 

Out they spread the cakes so fine, 
Knowing not that after service 

The great preacher came to dine. 
For 'twas said that Ruby's children 

Were the ''model" ones in town. 
Thus it was to Ruby's household 

Came the preachers of renown. 

Sticky hands and clothes all corn meal 

Stood the children at the gate. 
Telling o'er how many yeast cakes 

They had made, while thus they wait. 
'"Model children," thought poor Ruby, 

As she saw them standing there, 
While the preacher's eyes were merry 

As he viewed two guilty pair. 

And he praised their cakes and questioned, 

"How they mixed and made them round?" 
And they listened with deep interest 

How the Indian maize was found ; 
Till the model children's mother 

Quite forgot her great dismay, 
And the children thought they never 

Had before as fine a day. 



159 



RUBYS CHILDREN, 



And one of the **model" children, 

Who is Hving now to-day, 
In the farmhouse, the old homestead, 

If you chance to pass that way. 
He will tell you he has listened 

To great preachers of renown. 
But the greatest was the preacher 

Who once sought their little town. 

Will relate to you the story. 

As IVe told it here to you, 
While the stones along the drivew^ay 

Glist'ning in the morning dew 
And Mt. Tom and old Mt Holyoke 

In the sunshine seem to say : 
'*We remember Ruby's children 

And the cakes they made that day." 



i6o 




MADELINE. 



MADELINE. 

**Ev'wybody's cross and tired 

Iss hot day, 
Wiss I was a 'ittle angel 

Any way, 
Nen I fink some uzzer angels 

In the sky, 
'Ittle ones would play wif me, 

By and by. 
Dess I know what I will do," 

Baby said, 
And the ringlets fairly danced 

On her head. 
Then I heard her wee feet patter 

Up the stair ; 
And her baby voice grow^ fainter 

On the air. 
"She has gone to get her dolly." 

►So I said; 
And contented for a short time. 

On I read. 
Then I missed the baby prattle 

Sweet to hear, 
And the stillness everywhere 

Made me fear 
Harm had come unto our darling, 

Madeline, 

i6i 



MADELINE. 

And I called : ''Where are you, baby, 

Baby Queen?" 
Then the answer came, "Don't bozzer, 

Muzzer dear, 
I iz talking to the angels, 

Wight up here." 
Wondering at the baby answer, 

And intent 
As to what could be the meaning, 

Up I went. 
Found her perched upon a table 

All undressed. 
*'I iz dwess'd just like an angel," 

She confessed ; 
And her dimpled hands were holding, 

O'er her head 
Polished gong that there reflected 

All she said. 
"See, my angel, muzzer darling, 

Talks to me. 
It has just come down from heaven, 

Do 'oo see?" 
"Yes," I said, "the sweetest angel 

Ever seen ;" 
And I kissed and called the angel 

Madeline. 



162 



A FLIRTATION. 

Dimpled arms to shoulders bare, 
Cheeks like roses, short light hair, 
White mull bonnet tied with strings, 
On her finger two wee rings ; 
Pink lawn gown so trim and neat. 
Reaching to her little feet ; 
Sparkling eyes and winsome ways, 
Had this little maid, I praise ; 
Nay, I can't describe her half 
With her jolly little laugh. 
What her name, I cannot say, 
Met her on the train one day, — 
On the last train out from town, — 
Wide awake, her eyes of brown ; 
O'er the high-back seat she smiled 
And my very heart beguiled. 
When we parted — asked a kiss, 
Did this dainty little miss ; 
And she said : — 'T dess love you," 
She was three, I twenty-two. 
My ! I wonder would she say 
The same words to me to-day, 
Could I find her she would be — 
No ! — that tells my age, you see ; 
She would be — my sweetheart true 
Who once said, 'T dess love you." 

»63 



A MODERX PEGASUS. 

There is no need in days like these 

For winged steeds, 
The modern Pegasus can mount 

To noble deeds 
Without those wondrous structures called 

A pair of wings ; — 
Such articles in these bright days 

Are useless things. 

Then ho ! for the calico pony, 

And hey! for Archie's steed, 

And hurrah! for the elevator 

That supplied the pony's need. 

This is the story I would tell 

Of a small lad_. 
Who has a pony that can make 

His boy-heart glad ; 
But, Archie had been ill and so 

He had to stay 
Up on the third floor, in his room. 

Both night and day. 



164 



A MODERN PEGASUS. 

Now, Archie lives in Washington 

In the White House, 
And when a boy is sick things seem 

Still as a mouse, 
No matter if the city's big 

And busy, too. 
It is a lonesome place if one 

Has naught to do 

But just to wait and wait and wait, 

The live long day. 
For mumps, or measles or such things 

To go away. 
This is about what Archie did 

Up in his room, 
Till he was better and could see 

The faithful groom. 

And then, oh, wonders to relate. 

The pony took 
The elevator in his flight 

And earth forsook. 
And mounted to the sick boy's room 

And so became, 
A modern Pegasus and a steed 

Of White House fame. 



165 



A MODERN PEGASUS. 

There is no doubt that Pegasus 

Of olden time, 
V/as often weary in his flight 

From clime to clime. 
And wished that he might upward soar 

Above earth's clay, 
B}' some such means as .Archie's steed 

This later day. 

Then ho I for the calico pony, 
And hey ! for pony's groom, 

Hurrah! for a modern Pegasus 

And his flight to Archie's room. 



i66 



A VALENTINE. 

Dear little maid, sweet Katharine, 
Oh, be my sweetheart true ; 

And let me be your Valentine, 
For aye your whole life through. 

If clouds appear, with words of cheer, 

I'll send them far away ; 
And make your life as bright and clear 

As a perfect June-time day. 

Dear little maid, sweet little maid. 
Just wear this knot of blue ; 

Or else, dear maid, I am afraid 
My heart will break in two. 

Dear litttle maid, sweet Katharine, 

Oh, be my sweetheart true ; 
And let me be your Valentine, 

For aye your whole life through. 



167 



MISS MUFFIT REVISED. 

"Little Miss Muffit 
Sat on a tuffit 

Eating a curd and whey" ; 
But we're not Miss Muffit, 
Nor sit on a tuffit, 

And we call it "junket" to-day. 

"There came a big spider. 
And sat down beside her, 

And frightened Miss Muffit away" ; 
Our spiders are care, 
Worry, grief and despair, 

That enter our lives each day. 

To last for all time. 

In reverse of the rhyme, 

A lesson we'll learn to-day ; 
To laugh at despair. 
And worry and care. 

And frighten such spiders away. 



i68 



THE OLD YEAR. 

Dying, Old Year, thou art dying, 

Thy sun it has almost set; 
The joy thou hast brought and the sorrow, 

How can we either forget. 

The promises made at thy coming 

Lie broken now at thy feet ; 
Shall we make them all o'er on the morrow. 

To break ere next year's retreat? 

From each some loved thou hast taken, 
Where kept we never have learned ; 

To them it is said we shall journey, 
To us they've never returned. 

We all seek an El Dorado, 

For gold, ambition or love ; 
Its capital city Manoa, 

Seems always beyond or above. 



1 60 



THE OLD YEAR. 



Just out of reach, yet forward, 
We press with each cycle of time ; 

And learn. Old Year, at thy dying, 
That land's farther off as we climb. 

Dying, Old Year, thou art dying, 
And often for thee shall we grieve ; 

Still, to-morrow with joy and with laughter, 
Another New Year we receive. 



170 



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Treafemert Dale: Oct 2009 

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